Gospel Story Finder

Religion wasn’t popular in my household when I was growing up—although my parents had been very religious for most of their lives, my father’s terminal diagnosis, among other trials, led them to leave the religion they were raised in. I was four when he died of cancer and was also the youngest of 13 children, and my widowed mother just couldn’t believe that God would let something like this happen to our family.
But when I was 14 years old, I felt something was missing from my life. I wondered if I had a greater purpose that I wasn’t aware of. I felt like Joseph Smith, as “my mind was called up to serious reflection and great uneasiness” (Joseph Smith—History 1:8). Although I had never heard of Joseph Smith at that time, I began a search very similar to his as I attended many churches in hopes that I would find truth.
And I did, one day, when I saw two young men in suits going to my neighbor’s home. I was curious and asked them if I could come to their appointment. After getting my mother’s approval, I began the missionary discussions and eventually joined the Church.

Miles of gray desert ended abruptly in a miragelike valley of green. A cluster of neat houses sparsely shaded by poplar and cedar trees flanked both sides of the road. Near the center of town stood a bank, a mini-supermarket, a hardware and general mercantile store, and a combination garage and service station.
A few strings of tinsel and pasteboard Santa Claus placards swung wearily in the hot breeze above the street. In the doubtful shade of a large cedar stood a small frame building with a weathered sign that read: U.S. POST OFFICE, DESERT CITY, ARIZONA, POPULATION 467. The cedar was decorated with colored bulbs and strands of red and green paper. Inside the post office a wreath of holly hung over a grilled window which boasted a faded sign: GENERAL DELIVERY … STAMPS.
Behind the window, Luke Jones sorted the mail without conscious thought or effort. After 30 years in Desert City there was little he didn’t know about every resident—with one exception, the stranger who had arrived in town two days before. Luke shrugged, murmuring under his breath, “Curiosity killed the cat.” His lips twitched into a wry grin. “Must be a mighty long trail of dead cats behind me.”
Luke heard a scuffle of feet and turned toward the door. Mrs. Abbie Smithers walked in, and just behind her stood the stranger. Luke’s eyes watched the stranger, but his words were to Mrs. Smithers. “Got a postcard for you, Abbie. From your sister in Colorado. She ain’t going to get here for Christmas after all.”
“For pity’s sake!” Mrs. Smithers said. “I’ve cleaned house until the whole place shines like a new pin.”
“Don’t fret,” Luke said calmly. “It’s only a delay. Her little girl came down with the chicken pox. Here—you better read it yourself.”
As Mrs. Smithers left the window, the stranger asked, “Anything for Bill Anders?”
Luke’s sharp eyes studied him. He knew without looking that there was nothing, yet he turned and slowly sorted through some letters, his gaze darting sideways at the young man. “Ain’t you the fellar whose car broke down here day before yesterday?”
“That’s right.”
“Too bad,” Luke said. He looked directly at the serious-faced young man. “I hear it’s costing you $70 to get it fixed.” His glance was shrewd. “Garageman was in a while ago. Said it’s been ready for you since yesterday.”
“That’s right. Have I got a letter?”
“Where you expecting this letter from?”
Anders’s face flushed. “Look, I just want to know—”
“If I know where it’s from,” Luke interrupted, “maybe I can tell you when it’ll be here.”
Anders looked down at the floor. “It’s coming from Los Angeles. I wrote airmail two days ago when my car broke down.”
“Ain’t here yet,” Luke drawled.
Anders’s face shadowed. He turned to leave.
“Should be in tomorrow,” Luke said. “Mail gets in at 11:00.”
Anders limped toward the door, and Luke noticed that he wore a heavy brace with a built-up shoe on one foot.
“Hey, Anders!”
The young man stopped and turned around.
“You clear broke?” An angry flush reddened Anders’s face. “None of your business!”
Slyly Luke said, “You got money coming in that letter, ain’t you?”
“What’s it to you?” He stopped, took a deep breath, and said more quietly, “Yes, 100 dollars. Anything else you’d like to know?”
Without expression, Luke said, “From your folks, hey?”
Anders hobbled back to the window; his face was white. “Look, my folks are dead. A friend of mine in L.A. is sending me the money. At least, I asked him to send it, and I’m sure he will.”
“Maybe,” Luke said dryly, “maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes you find out you ain’t got a friend when you ask for money.”
Anders stared at him, then said, “Jim isn’t that way.”
Luke could sense an uncertainty behind the words. “Where you going from here if this Jim sends the money?”
Bill Anders’s mood changed suddenly. He looked at Luke and grinned. “Darned if you aren’t the most nosy, old … curious man I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ve been told that.”
Anders laughed. “All right, you might as well know. I’ve got a job waiting for me in Albuquerque that I’ve been trying to get since high school. A good job. A big chance for me.” His voice lowered. “I’ve got to get there in time to begin work the day after Christmas. I’ve got to!” He turned abruptly and limped out to the street.
Luke rubbed his chin and stared after him.
At 11:30 the next morning Luke finished sorting the mail to the barely audible Christmas carols coming from the battered radio on the shelf. He examined again the letter addressed to Bill Anders. The postmark was smudged beyond recognition; the name and the address were typed. Luke held the envelope up to the light. He could see the outline of currency inside. He fingered the envelope. It crinkled like crisp, new greenbacks crinkle. Yes, it contained the 100 dollars Bill Anders was waiting for.
Luke’s lips thinned a little. A hundred dollars could mean a lot to a person, even to a man in his position. It could mean that new fishing outfit he wanted for his next vacation. He smiled at the thought. A Christmas gift to himself …
He fondled the letter. What he would have given years ago for this money! It might have changed his whole life—marriage, children, grandchildren—but he had been unable to borrow the money. Friends—even relatives—had turned him down. He slammed the letter into the mail slot. Why should he worry about a crippled young man, a stranger he would never see again?
Luke heard dragging footsteps on the wood floor and turned around to see a subdued Bill Anders, a face lined with worry, yet eyes which still held a lurking hope.
Luke hesitated, and then he reached into the slot and pulled out the mail under the letter A. Deliberately he sorted through the letters; indecision still weighed upon him. He didn’t have to give this letter to the boy. But if he didn’t, could he ever live with himself? Could he look into a mirror without seeing the disappointment on the young man’s face?
He held the letter away from the others.
“Is that for me?” Anders’s voice was strained.
Luke held the letter up to the light. “Postmark’s smudged. Can’t tell where it’s from.”
“Is it for me?”
“Ain’t got a return address on it,” Luke drawled.
“It’s from Jim! It must be!”
Luke watched the boy’s face. It was transformed. His eyes were shining now, the lines of strain and worry vanished. Luke waited a moment longer, and then he tossed the letter through the iron grill.
Anders ripped open the envelope. Five crisp, 20-dollar bills fell out. There was no message. Carefully he picked up the money, handling each greenback almost with reverence. He glanced up at Luke. “Jim isn’t one to write,” he explained, “but when a guy needs help, he comes through.”
“Guess you got a real friend, hey?” Luke said softly.
As he reached the door, his shoulders straight, Anders looked back and smiled. “Merry Christmas!”
Luke watched him limp down the street toward the garage. He sighed heavily and turned again to the mail rack. From the A slot he withdrew a postcard. It was postmarked Los Angeles and addressed to Bill Anders. The few scribbled words on the back were still fresh in Luke’s memory. “Dear Bill: Sorry I can’t help. Things are tight for me too. Jim.”
Slowly Luke placed the card on the counter and stamped it “UNCLAIMED.”
His voice was fretful as he muttered, “Curiosity cost more than a cat this time.” But he was smiling as he turned back to his work.
From the battered radio came the soft strains of “Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men.”

“Go, Monarchs, go!” shouted a voice from the stands as our team took the field for the first inning. It was the last game of the regular baseball season, and the most important game of the summer for our team, the Mid-Town Monarchs. We were tied for first place with the South-End Satellites, and whoever won would get the league championship trophy.
“We just have to win, Tim,” my best friend, Ryan, shouted at me as we headed for the field. He played center field, and I was in left field. We always backed each other up if the ball came our way.
“So let’s do it,” I shouted back.
We’d never won the league championship before. In fact, until this year, we hadn’t even won many games. But this year was different, partly because we’d gained experience and skills over the last three years, partly because of luck, but mostly because we had a new player, Jay Dunwoody, who had moved to our part of town last winter. Other years, we hadn’t had a good pitcher, but Jay was about the best twelve-year-old pitcher around.
Jay was really keen to win. When baseball season started and he discovered our team wasn’t very strong, he organized extra practices, beyond what Coach Burnell called. Jay became our self-elected captain, and when the coach made him official captain, we didn’t mind, even though he was the new boy.
“Strike ’em out, Jay,” I called to him now as we went to our positions in the field. I hoped that things would go right for us.
They did, at first. Jay struck out the first two batters, and the third one popped out to the shortstop. Then, on our turn at bat, we scored two runs.
But in the second inning, the Satellites’ first baseman belted a home run over Ryan’s head. Although there was no way that he could have reached it, I knew that Ryan was upset.
The next batter sent a hard ground ball toward me. Just as I reached for it, the ball struck a bump on the field and bounced over my glove. I retrieved the ball, but the batter reached third. Later our second baseman fumbled a fly ball, and two runners scored, putting the Satellites ahead, 3–2.
“What’s wrong with you guys in the field?” Jay grumbled when we went in for our second at bat. “I can’t win this game alone.”
“Take it easy, Jay,” Coach Burnell interrupted. “Those were honest errors. Maybe everybody’s trying too hard. We need to relax.”
“That first baseman is good,” Ryan muttered.
“Yes,” the coach agreed. “He can hit as well as play his position. We’ll have to watch him. Now, let’s settle down and play ball.”
That’s just what we did. We didn’t score any more runs for the next few innings, but we did stop the Satellites, and Ryan and I each caught a tricky fly ball, which helped make up for our earlier bad luck.
By the sixth inning, the score was still 3–2, and the tension was mounting. I could feel my stomach knotting, and the shouts from the crowd didn’t help.
As our first batter went to the plate, Jay called me aside. “You’ll be up third this inning. If you hit it, Tim,” he said quietly, “run into that first baseman. Knock him down and shake him up. Or step on his foot with your cleats. If he’s hurt, he won’t be able to play. He’s due to bat again. But if he can’t play, their whole team might give up.”
“We don’t play like that,” I started to protest, but Jay stopped me.
“Did you ever win the league championship before? Were you even close?”
I shook my head.
“Then listen to me. And don’t go running to Coach Burnell. I can’t win this game alone. But if you do what I say, you can really help.”
“Why me?”
“You’re the biggest guy on our team. And you can make it look like an accident.”
He walked away. The knot in my stomach was a lot worse, and I felt almost like throwing up. I didn’t want to do what he said, but, boy, did I want to win! And I knew that our whole team felt the same. After three years of finishing almost last, it would feel so good to finish first.
“Go, Monarchs, go,” called a voice from the stands that I knew was my mother’s. She was my biggest fan, and she was counting on a victory. Even my little sister had come to watch. I just had to do what I could to win this game.
“Tim, up to bat,” shouted the coach, and I realized that our first two batters had both struck out.
“Go for it, Tim,” called Jay. “Do what you can.”
I took a deep breath, and when the first pitch came, I was ready. Wham! The ball sailed past the pitcher. Dropping the bat, I sped for first.
I felt as if everything was in slow motion. With one eye, I watched the second baseman running to get the ball on a bounce. With the other, I saw the first baseman toeing the bag, to receive the throw. And the ball was going to beat me! But if I did what Jay wanted, I could still help, and maybe we’d have a chance.
I was sure that I could knock the guy over if I charged into him. He wasn’t very big. Or I could jump on his foot with my cleats. Nobody would know it wasn’t an accident. Nobody but Jay and me.
But suddenly, almost as if the slow motion stopped, I decided that it wasn’t that important to win. It was only a game, not a life and death struggle.
The ball smacked into the first baseman’s glove just before I reached the base. I sailed past without touching him.
“You’re out!” shouted the base umpire, and I headed for the bench to get my glove.
“You didn’t even try it,” Jay snarled as I went past him. “Don’t you want to win?”
I stopped. “I want to win, all right,” I told him. “Just as much as you do. But not that way.”
After that, the last inning sped by, and that was the end of us.
But when the game was over, when the Satellites lined up to accept the trophy, I felt good. We Monarchs had had a good season and finished second, and that was OK. Maybe Jay couldn’t understand, but from the grin on Ryan’s face, I figured that he felt the way I did.

In school I had an assignment to create a family coat of arms. First I thought about what is important to my family. Then I started with a sheet of blue paper because I remembered the words from “Our Primary Colors” (Children’s Songbook, 258): “Blue is for truth in our thought and our deed.” Next I put on a green shield to remind me to choose the right, just like my CTR ring. I added a red heart on the shield because “red is for courage to do what is right,” and the heart is for the love that keeps our family together. I added a yellow Utah shape because I was born in Utah and because yellow is for “service from morning till night.” I added a picture of the world because my ancestors came from 14 different countries. I added a picture of the Book of Mormon because it is so important to my family. I added a picture of a baptism because we have to be baptized to return to live with Jesus. I added pictures of temples because they make it possible for our family to be together forever. And I added a white cat because I like cats and have two as pets. My teacher gave me a certificate for being the most creative, and she hung my shield on the wall for a long time. It also helped me to share the gospel with my friends.Rachel Mathews, age 8Valparaiso, Indiana

One of greater childhood determination was Steve Alford, who plays for the Dallas Mavericks team in the National Basketball Association. He remembers telling his eighth grade counselor, as she completed a career path form for him, that he was going to be an NBA player. She responded, “I can’t put that answer down.” Steve Alford replied, “Then leave it blank, ‘cause that’s what I’m going to do!” And he did.

Our Sunday School class of 13-year-olds was not exactly known for our reverence. However, we had a wonderful teacher who tried her best to teach each lesson by the Spirit. One such lesson was on reading the scriptures.
At the end of the lesson she gave us a challenge. It was meant for all of us, but for some reason she looked directly at me as she said, “I challenge you to read from the Book of Mormon every single day!” I thought to myself, “I will show you. I will do it!”
I began 1 Nephi chapter 1 that very night and continued reading every day. I probably did not have a proper attitude when I began, but over time I began to like the way reading the Book of Mormon made me feel. Reading each night became an enjoyable habit.
Months later I came to Alma 32 and was impressed by the idea of a faith experiment. In school we had just learned about conducting scientific experiments, so I kneeled down and told Heavenly Father that I was beginning the experiment. I asked that I would come to know whether the Book of Mormon was true.
In hindsight, I know that Heavenly Father answered my prayers many times. Reading daily from the Book of Mormon gave me increased capacity to overcome evil. I felt closer to my Father in Heaven. I felt strengthened by the power of the Holy Ghost to overcome obstacles. What Alma said about experimenting with God’s word is true: “It beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me” (Alma 32:28).

Randy Thomas and Heather Young, both members of the Cherry Hill New Jersey Stake, take their dogs to church on Sunday. They also take them to stores, schools, restaurants, airports and other public places.
How do they get away with it?
Actually, Randy and Heather are encouraged to do all these things. The dogs they take care of—a new puppy every year—will eventually belong to a blind person and will be their “eyes” when they go out in the world.
“Initially, I got into this project because I liked the idea of getting a new puppy every year,” says Heather. “It’s hard to let them go after you train them and bond with them for a whole year, but it feels good to know that you’re helping someone else.”
Randy, Heather, and all of the other youth involved in the project give mobility and freedom to hundreds of people each year.
“Once I first picked up the harness handle I knew that the world of possibilities now lay at my fingertips,” says one recipient.
For Heather and Randy, comments like that make it all worthwhile.

Clark was deeply touched when, on a typically marvelous Monson fishing experience, his father asked him to reel in his line for a moment. When the lines were in and the rods set aside in the boat, Brother Monson said, “In about five minutes your brother Tom will be sitting down to take the bar examination admitting him to the practice of law. He has worked hard through three years of law school for this and he will be a little nervous. Let’s just kneel here in the boat. I’ll offer a prayer for him, and then you offer one.”
“That was one of the greatest experiences of my life,” Clark later reported. He was also deeply touched years later when his father turned the car around and drove sixty-four kilometers out of his way to let Clark get a good look at a hawk’s nest. “I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he would do that. It’s exactly the kind of thing he has done all his life for those he sees in need.”

Emily burst through the front door in tears. She dropped her bag on the floor and ran to her room. Mom followed her and knocked on the bedroom door. “Em, can I come in?” she asked.
Emily answered with a quiet “yes,” and Mom opened the door.
“Is everything OK, honey?” Mom asked.
“Nothing is OK!” Emily said. “You won’t believe what happened today. Jenny handed out her birthday party invitations after school, and I was the only girl in our class who wasn’t invited. I feel horrible. I am so mad at Jenny.”
“I can imagine how that would feel,” Mom said. “What do you think you should do?”
“I’m never speaking to her again. Not in a million years,” Emily sobbed.
Mom put her arms around Emily and stroked her hair. “Do you think that is the best thing to do?” she asked.
“I don’t care,” Emily moaned. “Jenny is so mean.”
The next morning at breakfast, Emily slumped into her seat at the table. She pushed her food around the plate with her fork.
“Emily, Mom told me you didn’t get an invitation to Jenny’s party. Is that what’s bothering you?” Dad asked.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Emily said.
“Try me,” Dad said.
“It’s just that my feelings are hurt. It’s embarrassing to be left out.”
“I do understand, Em,” Dad said. “But remember that we can feel better when we forgive others. Jesus forgave everyone who offended Him. Try to forgive, and then let it go. It’s what Jesus would want you to do.”
Emily walked to school with her friend Lucy. Lucy talked about Jenny’s upcoming party all the way to school. Emily listened quietly, too embarrassed to tell her friend that she hadn’t been invited. At recess, all of the girls in Emily’s class huddled together and talked excitedly about the party. Emily wandered away from the group and sat by herself on the swings. She glared at everyone. She felt very alone.
During gym class, Emily’s friend Gina, who usually picked her first when choosing teams, chose Jenny first instead. Emily was the last to be picked. She could hardly hold back the tears, and her stomach began to hurt. She asked the teacher if she could be excused from class to go to the nurse’s office.
Later, as Emily waited for her mother to pick her up from school, she thought about what her father had said about forgiveness, and about how Jesus had forgiven everyone who had hurt or offended Him. But Emily couldn’t do that. She couldn’t forgive Jenny for making her feel this way.
Emily and Mom rode home in silence. When Mom pulled into the garage, Emily jumped out of the car and ran to her room. She stared out the window until Mom called her for dinner.
At dinner, Emily’s brother Jack talked eagerly about his day at preschool. Emily’s dad told a funny story he heard at work. Emily sat in silence, staring down at her plate. After dinner, Mom announced, “We’ll be having family home evening now.”
“But, Mom, it’s Thursday. We had family home evening on Monday,” Emily said.
“It’s an emergency session to help you with what’s been bothering you,” Mom said, smiling.
The family gathered in the living room. They sang “Help Me, Dear Father,”* and Jack said the opening prayer. Then Mom left the room and returned with four helium-filled balloons. Each balloon was attached to a colorful ribbon. Mom handed a balloon and a marker to each member of the family.
“Tonight we’re going to learn about letting go of hurt feelings,” Mom said. “I want each of you to write on your balloon things that others have done that hurt your feelings. Write down anything that is keeping you from feeling love for someone.”
After thinking for a minute, Dad began writing. Mom helped Jack write on his balloon, and then began working on her own.
Emily wrote things that were easy for her to forgive: Jack jumping on her bed, Gina losing her favorite pen. Then Emily paused. There was one thing that seemed too hard to forgive. Could she really forgive Jenny and still be her friend? Emily thought about the words of the song they had just sung: “Help me, dear Father, to freely forgive, all who may seem unkind to me.”
Emily sat quietly for a moment. Then she slowly wrote on her balloon, “Jenny didn’t invite me to her party.”
When everyone had finished, Mom said, “Now let’s say a prayer in our hearts asking Heavenly Father to help us forgive the people who have hurt our feelings. Let’s also ask Him to forgive us for things we have done that hurt others.”
As Emily finished her prayer, a feeling of warmth washed over her.
Emily smiled as they all let go of their balloons. The balloons drifted upward and bounced gently against the ceiling. Emily laughed and joked with her family as they shared a dessert and cleaned up together.
That night, as Emily climbed into bed, Mom and Dad sat down next to her. She smiled up at her parents.
“It looks like you’re feeling better,” Dad said.
“I feel good,” Emily said. “I’m still sad that I won’t be at the party with all of my friends, but I’m not angry at Jenny anymore. I know that Heavenly Father loves her just like He loves me, even though we both sometimes do things that hurt others. I think forgiveness is Heavenly Father’s way of helping us learn to love each other the way He loves us.”

Life couldn’t have been finer for Carlos Espínola in 1967. Baptized at age seventeen, he had served a mission in Uruguay and was now pursuing a degree at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. He was also earning what he considered to be an enormous salary, writing and preparing materials for the Peace Corps on how to teach the Guaraní and Spanish languages—both of which are spoken in Paraguay.
To make the dream complete, Nelly, his fiancée from Uruguay, was ready to join him. They would marry in the Salt Lake Temple, he would finish his degree, and they would settle down to a wonderful life in the United States.
But, unexplainably, Carlos felt that something wasn’t quite right. Seeking spiritual direction, he asked for a patriarchal blessing. “My blessing said that I was to help my own people to know the Church, and that I was going to be a leader among them,” he says. “When I received that blessing, I thought a lot about those words.”
He fasted and prayed to know how to interpret the blessing. Finally, “after receiving the confirmation of the Spirit, I felt that this was not the place for me. I felt that the Lord really needed me in South America. So I made the decision to return.”
Even though his visa was good for another year, he gave it up—along with his apartment, his furniture, his schooling, and his job—and went home. He and Nelly were married in Uruguay. There he continued his schooling and earned two degrees—one in business administration and another in construction. And he got a job for less than a third of the salary he was making in the United States.
“My friends told me I was crazy. But I said, ‘No, I am happy, because I want to do it.’ And I knew the reasons I was doing it. The blessings we have received by staying here have brought to pass many promises in my patriarchal blessing.”
In 1979, Carlos became the first stake president in Paraguay. Nearly ten years later, he became the second Paraguayan to serve as a mission president. (He opened the Chile Antofagasta Mission.) And he has been blessed professionally. For twenty years, he has worked for the Presiding Bishop’s Office in Uruguay and Paraguay. He is now regional manager for the Presiding Bishopric in Paraguay.
“We are very satisfied with our lives here,” says Sister Espínola. “For us, the brothers and sisters in the Church are like family. The Lord has greatly blessed us and our children spiritually.” She and Carlos were sealed in the temple and have four children: Alejandra, 22; Alvaro, 20; Ariel, 16; and Arturo, 14. They speak of rich experiences they’ve shared as a family, both on their mission and at home.
“Our children are our best inheritance,” says Carlos. “They are having experiences that are helping them gain their own testimonies. I can see that they are living on their own light.”

Friday, March 11, 2011, 2:46 p.m.; K?riyama, Japan; K?riyama chapel, second floor.
Fifteen missionaries in the middle of leadership training begin to practice teaching about Joseph Smith. As the message of hope and peace fills the room, the windows begin to rattle. The noise intensifies. What began as vibrations escalates to booming.
The building jerks side to side, and the movement increases in speed and magnitude until it becomes one continuous jolting motion. Standing and walking are nearly impossible. Some missionaries try to take cover under the tables—until the tables are thrown across the room. The building, the city, even the whole province reel in commotion as if the earth will burst open. One thought prevails in my mind: “Get the missionaries out of here!”
As mission president of the Japan Sendai Mission, I had been teaching the missionaries and members for months to “turn to the Lord” (Mosiah 7:33). Now, as I turned to Him for divine guidance, inspiration came quickly: “Open the door—create an escape route.” I knew that I must open the door before the ceiling collapsed, trapping us inside. So I rushed to the door and opened it. “Get out of here!” I shouted.
The missionaries staggered along the shifting, rocking, heaving floor toward the open door; then they headed down the stairwell and out of the church. Once outside, we felt safer, although we were not yet safe from the elements. The weather had turned bitter cold, and snow pelted our faces.
Across from the church, headstones in a Buddhist cemetery toppled over; the wall of the cemetery had turned to rubble. A large fissure zigzagged up all 12 stories of an apartment building behind the church. Large chunks of concrete facade had crumbled off the walls of an adjacent elementary school. Windows had blown out, and broken glass littered the ground. On the opposite side of the road, a blue tile roof lay in pieces. I gathered the 15 missionaries in the parking lot of the church, and we gave our Heavenly Father thanks for our protection and asked for His continued help.
Panic set in throughout the city. Afraid that they would go without food, people began buying everything in sight. Bread and milk sold out immediately, and within a few hours no bread could be found in the city. Lines miles long formed at the gas stations.
In contrast to the panic of the people on the streets, the missionaries were remarkably calm. We offered prayers of thanksgiving, and we felt a calm assurance that all would be well.
We could not leave the city—roads were damaged and freeways were closed, and no trains or buses were running. People who had waited hours in long lines to purchase gasoline were turned away. Government inspectors systematically entered each residence, condemning some and approving others for occupancy. So we stayed overnight at evacuation centers with numerous others who, like us, could not return to their homes.
The next day, Saturday, we began as usual with scripture study and prayer. That day we especially needed our Heavenly Father’s help. After scripture study, I organized the missionaries into groups. One group went to the church to help clean up and then worked with the branch president to repair members’ homes. One group visited the city inspectors to find out whether the missionary apartments were safe to enter. Another group checked to see if trains and buses were running. Several others stood in lines to obtain water while others searched for food. One companionship received a special assignment: find bread for the sacrament on Sunday. I worked throughout the day trying to contact all the missionaries in the mission.
That day we felt our Heavenly Father’s guidance in everything we did. The missionaries who stood in the line for water met two men with whom they shared the gospel. The missionaries shared their testimonies of God’s love and brought the two men to our testimony meeting in the evening and to church the next day.
The sisters who sought food for us soon learned that God was guiding their footsteps. Unable to find anything in the stores, they found food in places they usually would not consider, such as down deserted alleys and in small, one-room shops. We had been given our “daily bread” (Matthew 6:11).
At the end of the day we reported back to our Heavenly Father. We had not lost our focus. We were still “disciple[s] of Jesus Christ,” who were “called of him to declare his word among his people, that they might have everlasting life” (3 Nephi 5:13).
That evening we felt a greater need for the strength and power of our Heavenly Father. We needed His Spirit to be with us. So we had a testimony meeting at the chapel. The missionaries thanked the Lord for giving us our daily bread, and they recognized that we had been led, guided, directed, and protected. They knew that many others were not so fortunate and would not see another sunrise. We truly had been “troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we [had been] perplexed, but not in despair; … cast down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8–9).
All the missionaries testified of the peace they felt. They testified that God had protected them and calmed their souls. They had faced the possibility of death but did not fear. They did not have the water, food, or heat needed to sustain them long-term, yet they were nourished with living water; they were fed by the word of God; they were warmed by the Spirit. Within our little band of missionaries, not one feared. Each missionary felt God’s strengthening power that night and felt closer to God than ever before.
As that day ended, we were grateful to be alive. We thanked the Lord for the help He had extended to us in very literal ways. We made assignments for our worship service the next day and left the chapel to join the dozens of other temporarily homeless people in the evacuation center.
But two elders were especially solemn. They had been asked to get the bread for the sacrament the next day and had not accomplished their assignment.
As we reached the evacuation center Saturday evening, the city employees welcomed us back. They apologized that they had given us little food (20 crackers) to eat the day before but then beamed as they handed us the next day’s rations: a bottle of water and eight slices of bread.
My elders looked at me as if to say, “How could the Lord bless us any more?”
God, who knows the fall of a sparrow, had reached out again, as if preserving our lives had not been enough. Our Heavenly Father made sure that we would be able to “always remember” His Son (D&C 20:77). We were closer to our Savior than we had ever been in our lives.
The missionaries gave a special prayer that night. They dropped to their knees to thank our Heavenly Father for another miracle in a series of special miracles. They understood the priority that God has placed on our covenant to always remember Jesus Christ, and they were grateful for the mercy and kindness of a loving God who lets us partake of the sacrament each week.
These missionaries now testified, with greater conviction than ever before, that God wants us to always remember His Son, Jesus Christ.
The 2011 T?hoku earthquake took place 70 kilometers (about 45 miles) off the Oshika Peninsula and registered at a 9.0 magnitude, one of the five most powerful earthquakes measured since modern record keeping began in 1900.1
All of the Sendai missionaries were accounted for within days of the earthquake.

Michael and his mom moved into our ward when he was 11. Like the other boys in the ward, he was excited to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and pass the sacrament when he turned 12. But unlike the other boys, passing the sacrament would be a challenge for him.
Michael was born prematurely and suffered such severe brain damage that doctors doubted he’d develop normally. The fact that Michael has cognitive skills at the same level as his peers is nothing short of a miracle, but he still deals with physical limitations.
Michael can walk only with assistance, and he needs help taking care of basic needs. Still, he attends church, participates in his classes, and shares his testimony with others.
When Michael was ordained a deacon, some people in our ward wondered how he would be able to pass the sacrament with the rest of the boys his age. One of his fellow deacons found a solution. This young man pushed Michael’s wheelchair down the aisles of the chapel as Michael passed the sacrament tray.
We watched with tears in our eyes as Michael served us, and his friend served him. We learned that day that true service comes not only from hands, arms, or legs. Service also comes from the heart.

As a missionary, Elder Eves spent mornings tutoring trainees who were working on their high school certificates or an equivalent diploma. “I could not have passed my math section without him,” says Brandy, a single mother working to improve her employment skills.
But David’s tutoring wasn’t just about teaching educational skills. He also taught the missionary discussions to Rita Roberts, another trainee. “He helped me understand the gospel step by step,” Rita says. “And I knew I could count on him for anything. He and his family helped me move twice. You couldn’t find a better person—not just in the classroom, but anywhere. He’s unique.”

Rita Jeppeson and her visiting teacher have become good friends as they meet and share gospel conversations. But their visits also include playing word games together, which helps Rita’s aging mind stay sharp. Because her visiting teacher has learned what Rita needs and enjoys, they both look forward to each visit. Rita knows that they are friends and that the visit is not just an obligation. There are so many things sisters can do during a visit, such as taking a walk together or helping a sister with her chores.

All of this came together for me in a very personal way a year or so ago in Manila in the Philippines when a telephone call from my wife reached me in the middle of the night in a hotel room telling me that our only son had suffered a severe accident that threatened his mobility and perhaps his life. He was being flown home to be operated on.

About the time of his anticipated arrival home, I telephoned. There was a brief delay, then the sound of my wife’s voice, quiet and subdued. “Your four sons-in-law are standing around your son administering to him,” she said. “Paul has anointed him, and John is about to give him a blessing. He was worried because you’re not here. This will be the first administration he’s had from anyone but his father—but he’s comforted now.” I joined them in that prayer of blessing on my knees in a lonely hotel room half a world away, a room suddenly made sweet and warm.

Tiesha Benedict, from Derby, Kansas, shares a room with her younger sister. She says they weren’t getting along until she realized that her goal was to spend eternity with her family, including her sister. When there are constant arguments and disagreements, living together for eternity can seem more like a punishment than a blessing. So Tiesha decided to treat her younger sister like her best friend. Tiesha says it just took a small change of attitude to make sharing a room with her sister an enjoyable experience.

President Stuart and Sister Sheryl McReynolds led the England Manchester Mission from July 2017 to July 2020.
President McReynolds grew up in Leicestershire and Sister McReynolds was born in North Wales. Later, Sister McReynolds lived on the Isle of Man for a short time but spent most of her growing up years in London. At the time of their call, it had been 20 years since they lived permanently in the United Kingdom.
Sister McReynolds hadn’t served a full-time mission when she was young, so the prospect of serving as a mission president’s wife was a bit daunting, and she felt inadequate in many ways. “Yet, I knew I wouldn’t be transferred, or get a new companion, so I hoped we would get on all right,” she said light-heartedly. “But the opportunity to be together, that was a real privilege – just wonderful.”
“When I didn’t know what to do, or I thought I couldn’t do something that needed to be done, I realised that the Lord carries you when you do His work,” she said. “I think intellectually I knew this, but I’ve seen it so much more on a day-to-day basis than I ever had in the past.”
One highlight for the McReynolds was seeing the strength and personal growth of more than 550 missionaries from all over the world, giving their best to share a message about hope in Jesus Christ. They were from over 60 countries including: Madagascar, Eswatini, Lithuania, Curaçao, Japan and others.
When compared with the mission he served as a young man, President McReynolds was pleased to see a substantial increase in the number of sister missionaries serving. Nearly half of the missionaries in the Manchester mission were women. He said this created a balance of perspective and leadership in the mission, including new positions for sister-trainer leaders. Both were also amazed at how quickly they would come to love each elder and sister.
“We had been told that we would have instant and deep love for them,” she said. “But it was when we had been there just nine days, and about 24 missionaries were leaving for home, I realised how strong this love would be. It nearly broke my heart to say goodbye. Perhaps this is a blessing of the calling and comes when you are set apart – your capacity to love is expanded.”
“We have found that this love doesn’t really leave you,” President McReynolds said. “While we have only been back at home a short time, we still think about them, talk about them, worry about them and wonder how we can help them.”
The McReynolds saw quiet miracles take place in the mission. During one transfer, a missionary from South Africa who spoke Zulu, was sent to an area in the mission where a family of five from Africa would be taught the gospel. “It wasn’t that the family couldn’t speak English, but they saw it as a miracle—getting their very own Zulu-speaking missionary,” President McReynolds said.
They also witnessed tender mercies in the lives of the missionaries themselves. “It was lovely to see a missionary, who had the gospel all of their life; allow the gospel into their life,” Sister McReynolds said. “Suddenly it starts to click and come together on their mission and then you see them change and progress as they learn to rely more on the Saviour and on Heavenly Father more than on themselves or their parents.”
At a production of “Our Story Goes On,” they were also able to see awareness of the Church grow with civic leaders. She recalled meeting a local mayor and his wife at the event. “Afterward, when the musical had finished, he and his wife, especially him, were in floods of tears. He said, ‘I’ve never felt anything like this.’ It was as if he had a better understanding of gospel principles and indirectly, the plan of salvation. Perhaps in the future, this could lead to an increase in positive support.”
The restrictions surrounding COVID-19 changed the way missionary work could be done. “The pandemic was a considerable challenge for us as mission leaders, and as missionaries. Staying at home, staying in place, and adjusting everything that we did,” President McReynolds said. “It created a need to rethink how missionary work could continue virtually. We had always done everything face to face, yet we all know how powerful technology and social media tools can be. Online missionary work became a massive pivot for the mission. I think we made good progress, as we were able to find people, continue to teach and later baptise.”
In March, everything was being cancelled including the mission’s upcoming ‘Why I Believe’ devotional, featuring the conversion stories of new members of the Church. It was decided to take a leap of faith and hold it online. This was a big undertaking to make sure that the programme would be uplifting and inspirational, without the distractions online meetings sometimes have when technology fails.
“We saw the Lord’s hand in that first one,” said Sister McReynolds. “Because of COVID-19, we were all in separate locations, and it honestly shouldn’t have come together as nicely as it did.”
Typically, the in-person monthly devotional saw an attendance of anywhere from 250 to 550 people, depending on the location. With the move to online, an estimated 4,000 people have tuned in each month.
“While we did the devotional together as a mission, the missionaries were likewise adapting their own sphere of responsibility,” said President McReynolds. Asking questions like, “How do I adapt finding? How do I adapt my teaching? How do I adapt working with members, by using all these online tools?”
The mission also began using Zoom-conference calls, to reach out to individual missionaries for interviews, and for training and mission-wide calls which typically took place three times a week. “I really think it united the mission in a way that we hadn’t had before,” said Sister McReynolds. “They were interacting with others in breakout rooms, meeting fellow missionaries that they had never met before. It was a huge blessing and created a feeling that we were all in this together.”
The McReynolds’ aim was that all the missionaries would: first, be leaders and govern themselves; second, immerse themselves in Preach My Gospel, the guide to missionary service; and third, become Christlike missionaries. “We felt that becoming a Preach My Gospel Missionary or a Christlike missionary would not come until they really understood that they were agents to act, and truly govern themselves,” President McReynolds said. “Our dearest hope was that their conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and [to] Jesus Christ Himself would become deeper and deeper.”
President McReynolds shared a scripture in the Book of Mormon that summarised his and Sister McReynolds’ experience in the mission field as it relates to each other and the missionaries of the England Manchester Mission: “Nevertheless they did fast and pray oft, and did wax stronger and stronger in their humility, and firmer and firmer in the faith of Christ, unto the filling their souls with joy and consolation, yea, even to the purifying and the sanctification of their hearts, which sanctification cometh because of their yielding their hearts unto God. (Helaman 3:35)
“Humility is not something the world ever puts in the same sentence as strength, and in these assignments, you learn that, number one, they’re just humbling and in that humility, there is strength,” he said. President McReynolds attested that he and his wife had themselves become “firmer and firmer in the faith” as they served in this assignment. For them, it was indeed a case of, “Filling their souls and our souls with joy—lots of joy.”
“Yeah, been an amazing three years,” Sister McReynolds said. “I don’t think we’ll ever be the same again.”

Anne Luthy, Annette’s mother, knows Finnish well, and she helped translate Annette’s testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel onto the inside cover of several copies of the Book of Mormon. Annette took the books to school, where she is one of only three members of the Church, and gave them to five of her teachers and several of her classmates. She also found occasion to tell her friends the Joseph Smith story.

About 10 years before I joined the Church in 1976, I had a dream. In my dream I saw my father, who had been dead for some time. He called me by my nickname, “Mya, you will later do something in a foreign country that will be very important for your family.” It was a dream I could never forget—what did my father mean?
It was a remarkable day when the missionaries knocked on my door for the first time. I had always been very open and ready to listen to everyone who wanted to talk about religion, but I would often try to contradict and ask a lot of questions. But this time, it was like God was telling me: “Now listen! Don’t interrupt them, just listen!” I wanted to find the right place, the right church, so I listened.
After they left, I paced the floor and kept saying, “Truly, these are the servants of the Lord! I can feel it.” I listened to them and learned from them. Many things I hadn’t understood before started opening up for me, but nothing had as much effect on me as did their teaching about baptism for the dead.
I decided, after a few lessons, that I would be baptized. But it was not easy—I stayed awake many nights and prayed. Whenever I prayed I found peace and felt as if the arms of the Lord were holding me.
My five children were positive and supportive of my decision to be baptized, but my husband was very much against it. He gave his permission, but it became very obvious how much he was against it after I was baptized. Even my friends criticized me for turning against my husband, but somehow I always received the strength I needed.
When I had been a member of the Church for only six months, I was called to be the first Icelandic Relief Society president. It was a difficult time, but I knew I was serving the Lord. There was no one to teach me what to do—we were all so new. We had a manual and a handbook in English, but they were of no use to me because I could not speak or understand that language. Sister Sveinbjörg Gudmundsdóttir translated the lessons each week for the teachers. That was the first Church material I had ever seen in Icelandic! I loved getting those lessons, and I read them over and over again. As I look back, I think that perhaps the best times were when it was most difficult—it was then that I had to get on my knees and seek the Lord.
Throughout my life, I had always been very interested in my family history. After I became a member of the Church, I had another dream. In this dream, I was receiving some guests—very distinguished people. I had prepared a salmon, but I needed to put some plates on the table for the guests. There was always some interruption when I tried to add more plates, but I knew there should be many more. I awoke for a time after the dream but still felt very sleepy. I went to sleep again—and the dream was repeated. I felt I was being told that I had the salmon (which I understood represented the gospel)—I just needed to make it ready for others. I knew that I needed to get names to the temple!
That was the beginning of many hours in the family history library, searching out family records. Time did not exist while I was working there. I had a distant goal of some day being able to take these records to the temple, but I was afraid I would never realize this goal because of the language barrier.
I was so excited when I heard that the temple ceremony had been translated into Icelandic! For 19 years I had worked on my genealogy but never dared to dream that I would be able to go to the temple. And now—somehow—I had the feeling that I was not worthy, and I was afraid my husband would never allow me to go. I watched as members of the branch planned for the trip and went for their temple recommend interviews.
When President Ólafur called me into his office one Sunday and asked why I hadn’t asked for a temple recommend, I told him of my fears and misgivings. He said, “Why do you judge yourself so harshly? Will you believe you are worthy if I, as a servant of the Lord, tell you that you can go?” President Ólafur also told me he would visit with my husband to ask him permission for me to go. I was so happy when I left his office, I embraced everyone I saw. I was still happy when I got home, but the fear came back. I told my husband what had happened, and he said, “Of course you will go!”
When I finally entered the temple in London, my father’s words in that dream 29 years earlier suddenly became clear to me. Here I was, in a foreign country, prepared to do temple ordinances for my ancestors. There are not words to describe the feeling I had at that time. When I came into the celestial room after my own endowment, I felt like Simeon of old when he saw the child Jesus in the temple (see Luke 2:29–30). I, too, felt that after this experience, I could die in peace.
Truly, this was a dream come true!

The bell rang on Friday afternoon, and everyone quickly filed out of the school. Finally, my school week was over, and it was time to have some fun with my friends. We threw our backpacks into the trunk of my car and hopped in.
I was the first of my group of friends to have access to a car, so I was usually the driver. I was also the only Latter-day Saint in the group and, even though I had good friends, their standards were sometimes different from mine.
As we drove that day, my friends used swear words to dress up their stories. As in times past, it bothered me. So I thought about how I could cut down on the swearing and make the language of our group better. I knew my friends were aware and respectful of my values, but would they get mad if I expected them to uphold one of those values? I decided to try an idea.
“Hey, I’m trying out this new rule in my car where there’s no swearing allowed,” I said. They all gave me funny looks, but they went along with it. The result was amazing! Our conversations were hilarious because, instead of using swear words to express strong emotions, everyone found funnier ways to say things. It made our experiences in the car so much more enjoyable, and our friendships were strengthened as we kept the rule during car rides together.
I was so glad my friends were receptive to that no-swearing rule and were willing to uphold it in my car. It made me feel good to know I could stand up for my values and have my friends respect them. Best of all, it really made a difference in our friendships and helped us all to better appreciate the effects good language can have on people’s lives.